


Threefold

by Ladycat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU where Stiles is straight and wants a blow job and Derek loves giving blow jobs, and kind of likes giving them to straight guys. Which is apparently a thing, I swear I’m not making that kink up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just porn without any coherency. Oops?

Stiles gets to college full of hopes and dreams. A few of them are fulfilled the first couple of weeks: he makes plenty of friends with really cool people who do not want to shove him into lockers; not having a curfew or someone to yell at him to get off his computer at 3 am will never not be awesome; and hooking up is _absolutely_ a thing. Stiles loses his virginity to a girl with a crooked smile and a tongue ring and he beams all the way back to his dorm where his roommate proceeds to high fives him, gives him a shot, and says he never wants to know the details.

College is _awesome_.

Then Stiles learns about group projects.

Studying is not the issue. Stiles is a good student. He graduated two tenths of a point lower than Lydia Martin, got into Stanford early admission (with said Lydia Martin who had fumed a delicious rose when she heard), and will, when drunk enough, actually admit to enjoying the whole academic process. What he doesn’t like is working with other people. 

There is a _process_ to the way Stiles works. A finely honed, carefully evaluated process that most people—again, Lydia Martin the constant exception—cannot fathom. Deviations from the process by people who are too slow, too annoying or just generally _too_ tend to drive his ADHD into overdrive, sending him into random, at all hours research binges that he grew out of his junior year of high school.

It’s a shit storm. Especially when his favorite professor pulls him aside after class one day and tells him that college is _full_ of group projects. And group studying. He’ll discover that lovely little buffet of awful in his next semester, he’s told.

After that, the rose is definitely off. 

Suddenly he realizes that most of the friends he made orientation week are boring, or busy, or just plain annoying. His roommate doesn’t at all appreciate having his sleep disturbed–glaring daggers is not just a figure of speech when your roommate fences, practicing _in the room_ —and worst of all, Stiles manages to only get laid once more and it’s not that great.

“Why did I like college so much?” he complains in his (twice) weekly phone call with his dad.

“Because it’s awesome. You told me repeatedly.”

“I never should’ve let you see the Lego movie.”

His dad sighs and it’s easy to picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, tired and weary but smiling slightly because he always does when Stiles comes to him with a problem. “Is it really that bad, kid?”

“No,” Stiles admits, grumpy but truthful. Frustrating new experiences are new and frustrating, but he’s had worse. “It’s fine, it’s just not… different. You know?”

“It will be it. It takes time. All those kids are going through the same thing you are. You’ll figure it out.”

“Oh, fortune cookie wisdom, so helpful. Wait—Dad, did you have Chinese food? I know you always read those fortunes. We’ve talked about this. I’ve talked about this _with Lucy_. Do I need to remind her that Chinese food, while delicious, contains more sodium than a salt mine and is not appropriate for—“

“I’m hanging up now, Stiles. It’ll get better, kid, I promise. Love you.”

“Paternal affection copied from a Dan Savage program will not deter me from—crap.” Sighing, Stiles views the red bar of a hung-up call. “I’ve been reduced to platitudes. Some father of the year award you’re going to win.”

Weirdly enough, it does actually get better. Stiles makes a real friend, Scott, and most of the people in his group project bail or email their part in before disappearing, so Stiles is able to adapt his study process. This helps him avoid death by epee, yay.

Sex does not get easier. Stiles tries. He goes to parties and flails around with Scott, drinking too much and generally being himself. According to a scathingly brutal and beautiful Lydia that’s the issue, but Stiles doesn’t actually have a problem with who he is. He just wished that others would acknowledge the awesome that is him.

And maybe put their mouth on his dick. 

Because Stiles _loves blowjobs_.

Yeah, sure he’s only had two and one of them was really awful, but the girl with the tongue ring? She may have warped him for life. She’d been amazing, grinning despite his dick in her mouth, slurping and clearly enjoying it as much as he did. Stiles wants that again. He’s sick of his hand, the rough scrap of his palm and calloused fingers. He wants something _warm_ and _wet_ and—

“Jesus Christ.” 

Derek is the only person in their group project that treats it like a group project. Why is a mystery. Stiles has asked, because why not, but Derek gets a pinched, dark expression that reminds Stiles of a bee-stung ox about to rampage and he has no desire to get trampled. At least Derek is pretty easy to work with. He’s got a shitty little apartment off campus that’s dark and smells like cedar, with crappy furniture and a sense of quiet and calm that can seep into Stiles’ bones.

Also the guy is smart.

And glaring at him.

“Sorry. Did I get that answer wrong?”

Derek heaves this great, mountainous sigh and stares at him from below the caterpillars—er, his eyebrows. “Do you want a blowjob?”

“I. What?”

"A blowjob," Derek answers, pretty much the same way he'd asked Stiles if he wanted a soda upon arrival. "You smell. And you can't concentrate for shit."

“Uhm. I’m—straight?”

Derek isn’t, a fact made clear by the massive breakup he’d had three weeks before. People were still talking about it on campus. Something about a fire and criminal charges and Derek going even more monosyllabic then when they first met.

“So?” is Derek’s mature rebuttal. “A mouth is a mouth.”

By this time Stiles is gaping like a country yokel. Sure, Derek isn’t at all hard on the eyes with his model-quality good looks, expertly trimmed beard and his freakish dedication to working out for the baseball team. He’s smart, too, which Stiles has learned is something of a dealbreaker.

But he’s a guy. Offering a blowjob out of the blue like this is porn. Actually, this _is_ porn. Stiles spends a lot of time on the internet, okay, he’s checked out Craigslist personal ads.

“Uhm.” Stiles clears his throat and tries to ignore how his pants are getting tight. “No, thank you?”

Derek doesn’t helpfully stay oblivious and nods at Stiles’ crotch. “You sure about that?”

Crap. Stiles flails a little while seated and nearly knocks his laptop off the table because of course he does. “Look, I’m just a little thrown—”

“But not blown.”

“Oh my god, ha, oh ha. We’ve mentioned you trying to be funny and how you shouldn’t and how, exactly, did you think I’d react? Half the time I’m pretty sure you hate me! Now you’re just casually telling me that I smell,” which, come to think of it isn’t that odd since Derek is a werewolf, “and you’ll be happy to take care of the problem.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t say I’d be happy.”

“But you did offer to take care of it,” Stiles snaps back, his gaze dropping to Derek’s mouth. He can’t help it.

Derek shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Okay—why?”

Watching Derek pinch the bridge of his nose just like his dad does should be a serious turn-off. Oddly it isn’t. Derek looks weirdly endearing as his eyes scrunch up and his shoulders relax for the first time since Stiles arrived. Maybe the first time Stiles has ever seen. They’ve been working together on and off for almost six weeks and Derek has never settled into that rumpled, easy comfort Stiles prefers. 

“It’s a thing,” he says, finally.

“A thing. A thing? Can we be a little more explanatory than _thing?_ Unless you’re talking about a porn thing and I cannot believe I actually just said that.”

“It kind of is.”

“Unbelievable that I said that?” Welcome to Stiles’ whole _life_ , he wants to add, bitterly.

“No, a porn thing. It’s.” Derek waves a hand in an almost-flail, a half-growled noise rumbling from his chest in frustration. “I like doing it.”

Stiles may be (maybe?) straight, but his porn tendencies are all over the place. He wasn’t kidding about the Craigslist ads, nor the half-hearted reading about encounters that were more than likely true (thanks, reddit!), plus even some of the research as to why gay men liked giving straight guys blowjobs. It seemed a little too good to be true for said straight guys. 

Or maybe just too good to be true for _Stiles_.

“So.” Stiles licked his lips, watching Derek echo the movement. His lips were soft despite all the bristly beard around them. At least, they looked soft. “You want to give me a blowjob.”

The rippling motion Derek makes is too easy for a shrug, his ears trembling slightly. “Better than talking about it. You stink, Stiles.”

“You flatterer, you.”

For a moment there’s just silence. Two dudes sitting in a crappy apartment staring at each other, a blowjob offer cluttering up the already tiny, overburdened table.

“I’m not gonna say no,” Stiles acknowledges, realizing it even as he says the words. “I—this isn’t something I’m, like, coercing you into doing with the overpowering scent of me being horny, right?”

Derek gives an _epic_ eyeroll and slides down to his knees in one smooth motion. All of him is smooth, Stiles realizes, leaning back into his chair even as Derek shuffles forward into his personal space. It feels sudden, awkward, for all Stiles gave permission, and he isn’t really sure how to process any of what’s happening.

That gets worse when Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs, pressing down when the muscles jump in a way that is only somewhat comforting. “Relax,” Derek murmurs, already raspy and hoarse, pushing up Stiles’ shirt and his zipper down in a move that had to be deliberate.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, dude.”

Derek snorts, a hot, welcoming gust of air, followed by—

“Holy shit!” Stiles gasps, staring with eyes like saucers as Derek _licks him through his jeans_.

This is actual porn, Stiles thinks hysterically. There’s a camera in this room and he’s about to become internet famous, twink straight boy sucked by hairy daddy or something equally ridiculous and holy god, those are Derek’s _teeth_ pressing lightly through his jeans around the head of his cock.

The noise he makes is too complicated to define.

“Thought so.” Without explaining, Derek tugs Stiles’ jeans down with eager, steady fingers, urging him to lift up and suddenly Stiles is naked down to mid-thigh, one of Derek’s hands—huge and stark like this—pressed against his belly to keep his shirt up.

The flush of his dick is darker than anything Stiles has seen before. It’s nearly purple in the fading afternoon light, standing straight up with two pairs of eyes trained on it. A wet, soft sound makes Stiles’ gaze dart back in time to see Derek lick his lips, exhaling a rough noise full of want.

Neither of the two girls he’d had sex with had looked at his cock much. In the frantic, fumbling mess of both of those encounters, Stiles had either been too busy trying to make them feel equally as good, to touch them as much as he was possibly allowed, or too flat-footed—flat-bedded?—to notice. He’s pretty sure Kat didn’t stare at him much, though. She had been far too focused on trying out her new tongue-ring to do something as simple as stare.

In retrospect, Stiles kind of wishes she had. It’s unbelievably hot. Derek is tracking over every inch of Stiles, his normally blank face sliding up the scale, away from the usual notes of homicidal annoyance into something Stiles hesitates to call awe. Maybe appreciation? It’s a good look, regardless, and Stiles flushes underneath it.

“You’re not cut,” Derek says. His free hand comes up and traces along the vein.

“No? Is that—“

“Werewolf.”

If Derek is referring to how circumcision does poorly with werewolves, he doesn’t bother explaining it further. He just opens his mouth, all pink lips and dark shadows, and swallows Stiles’ down. And down.

And down.

Hyperventilating is not a good look when you have an incredibly hot guy—he _has eyes_ , okay—sliding until his lips press against Stiles’ pubes, cheeks hollowed as he sucks with gradually increasing pressure. It doesn’t seem to bother Derek, though, who pulls back until all but the head of Stiles’ cock glistens, then swallows him back down in easy, steady movements. Stiles doesn’t realize he’s gone past hyperventilating and into actively not breathing until Derek’s hand thumps lightly at his chest and he pulls off completely.

Quirks his wet, pink lips, and says, “Breathe.”

Then he leans back down, completely ignoring Stiles as he starts to kiss and lick all over the head of his cock. The sensation of heat and wetness explode through Stiles’ system. He pants, gasps really, making the occasional noise that he has to work to swallow back, not wanting to hear his own sounds when he can hear Derek instead.

Sex is essentially gross. Stiles learned that pretty quickly. It’s messy and sloppy and wet and Derek is engaging in _all_ of those things as he stops worshiping the head of Stiles’ cock and takes it back into his mouth, humming softly around it in what _might_ have been a growl as he starts to bob his head in a quick, light rhythm.

Kat, the girl with the tongue ring, had given an excellent blowjob.

This blows (ha!) it out of the water.

Derek’s mouth is hot, his tongue always moving, using that expanded werewolf lung capacity expertly as he sucks and licks. Stiles can't stop watching, his hands twitching to touch before fisting at his sides, legs as wide as he can go with his jeans basically pinning him. The movement must attract Derek’s interest because he gives a low, rumbling sound that is _definitely_ a growl, pulling back.

“Off,” he orders, tugging at Stiles’ jeans.

Normally, Derek’s voice is a surprisingly light tenor, totally incongruous with the bulk he keeps layering on himself.

Now he's a raspy, two-pack-a-day smoker. His lips are swollen, beard messy with spit and precome, tucked on his knees between Stiles’ thighs and asking him to strip so he can—as Stiles finds out in a few moments—suck on his balls with obvious enthusiasm, cupping and squeezing them as he mouths back up to Stiles’ cock, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that set every single hair Stiles had on end.

Derek looks—and sounds— _debauched_. There’s a drunken, almost languid quality as Derek curls one incredibly strong arm around Stiles’ hips, cupping his ass and hauling him forward. Stiles’ bare skin squeaks on the chair and he’d be humiliated except how Derek is swallowing him down even further than before, down so that he’s actually in his throat and Stiles can _see it_ , just like all those bizarrely angled porn shot where the girl looks like she’s swallowed an anaconda.

Stiles is not an anaconda. Except there he is, thick in Derek’s throat and feeling that incredibly tight squeeze of heatwetmuscle all around him.

“Fuck, Derek,” he hears himself moan. The need to come is a burning pit inside of him that he has to push down because as much as he wants to get off, he doesn’t want this to stop. To distract himself, he lets his hands come up, fluttering around Derek’s shoulders, cupping the back of his neck.

Derek pulls off with a wet gasp, immediately pushing his face back into Stiles’ crotch. “Y’ can touch me,” he says. The vulnerability in his voice is a shock. Another when he finds one of Stiles’ hands—not the one on his neck, some part of Stiles notes—and edges it further up onto his head. Derek’s hair is thick and surprisingly soft, since it looked gelled to death, and when Stiles pets it Derek makes a noise of pleasure so intense that Stiles almost comes from hearing it.

“Yeah, that,” is Derek’s next rasp, vulnerability growing into an almost shy ache. “Don’t be quiet.”

It isn’t _let me hear you_ but Stiles gets the message all the same.

He isn’t loud but only because he’s too breathless to manage any volume. He is _noisy_ , though, his normal inclination to babble translating into a waterfall of gasps and groans and pleading sounds, half-bitten words and phrases that mean nothing except maybe _ohgod_ and _sogood_ and _how is this even real?_

That one features a lot.

“Please,” Stiles gasps at some point. It feels like hours but it’s likely only a few minutes—he’s an eighteen year old getting his third blowjob, after all—tangling his fingers in the ends of Derek’s hair. “Please, fuck, I’m gonna—I need to come. Derek, I need—please,” he begs, tugging slightly.

Derek straight up _whines_ , surging forward to suck harder than ever, bobbing back and forth. Tugging again produces another whine and Derek somehow fiercely focused no longer on the blowjob itself, the mechanics and the actions of his mouth on Stiles’ skin, but the need for Stiles to come. That’s obvious in the nearly desperate way he sucks and slurps, beard gummy when Stiles bumps his fingers against it, eyes flicking up with an electric blue stare that is less a command than a plea.

Stiles comes so hard he sees spots.

“Holy shit,” he pants, eventually, leaning back in the chair. “Sorry about not warning you. I know not everyone, uhm.”

“Swallows.” Derek hasn’t moved from his kneeling position, still between Stiles’ legs, but he does raise his eyebrows meaningfully. His mouth is wrecked. “I do.”

“Well, I still should’ve.” Honor, thy name is Stilinski.

Derek shrugs a whatever. 

The awkwardness that follows is nearly painful. Oh, Stiles still feels good. He feels _amazing_ , the constant buzz of his mind quieted to something softer than the duvet that Scott’s mom sent him last week, his body almost completely calm and stupidly comfortable. It’s nice.

Only Derek hasn’t moved. His breathing is quiet, a simple pull and puff, the rest of him pond-still while Stiles comes down from his high and becomes aware of just how incredibly still Derek is. His face is blank, without the usual glower that lurks beneath his skin, just completely shut down. He looks _taut_. Like… he’s wrestling with himself?

“Can I help?” Stiles asks.

“No. S’fine. You’re straight.”

Well, yeah, but he isn’t a douchebag. A quick glance down shows that yes, Derek is incredibly hard. “I’ll go if you want me to, or if you want to go on working we can do that, too. Or—whatever. Totally up to you.”

Derek releases an irritated huff and finally looks up. “Or?”

“Or, I can help you out. I. Maybe want to. Or, oh, that would ruin the whole straight guy kink, though, wouldn’t it? Sorry! It’s just you look like maybe you could use a moment and…”

He wants to. Enough that he’s licking his lips, palms over sensitized as he makes them into fists because maybe it’s the post-orgasm glow, but Derek is a really, really attractive man. He’s also one that Stiles kind of likes. It isn’t just anyone he can work with, after all. Plus, for all Derek glares his anger and dismissiveness to the world, he’s always seemed kind of sad to Stiles. Lonely.

“It—doesn’t ruin it,” Derek grates out, shifting awkwardly.

“So. I could?”

“You really want to.” It isn’t a question. Derek is watching Stiles lick his lips again with an expression better suited to a starving man.

“Yeah. I’m not sure I’m up for blowjobs. Not because I don’t want to! I might kind of want to? But I’ve only gone down on a girl once and that was kind of a disaster and I’m pretty sure I’ll have performance anxiety if I try with you and I’d like to be good, dude, I want to make you feel good. I do.”

And then Derek surges up and crashes their mouths together. It’s a hard, messy kiss, full of teeth and scratchy beard, Stiles’ opening his mouth with a gasp when he tastes himself on Derek’s lips.

It’s over just as abruptly. Derek pulls back with a shocky noise, staring wide-eyed and flushed as he wavers on his knees. “Sorry. You didn’t—I shouldn’t have—done that.”

Carefully, thoroughly, Stiles licks over his lips. It’s a little mean since by now Stiles is certain Derek will—and does—watch each movement like a hawk. Or maybe like a wolf tracking prey. Stiles doesn’t feel like prey, though. He feels like he has total control to do anything they might want. Like Derek will definitely tell him when it’s too far, just like he’ll stop if Stiles were to say the same.

Stiles honestly can’t remember feeling like that with his first two encounters. It’s heady and _nice_ , which is not a word Stiles—or the rest of campus—would ascribe to Derek.

Derek is still looking horrified, though, so Stiles copies his shrug from before, although this time he actually says, “Whatever. I was kissing back, dude.”

“You’re straight.”

“I’m pretty new to the whole sexuality thing. Pigeonholing isn’t cool.”

That gets an eyeroll and Derek shakily climbing to his feet. Stiles isn’t much better, all coltish limbs with less control than usual, but it’s better than staying seated with Derek’s _cock_ really obvious in his face. He wasn’t kidding about performance anxiety about the blowjobs but Stiles is as competent as any other red blooded male when it comes to handjobs. Maybe later.

This time, Derek leans in slowly enough that Stiles has more than enough time to back away if he wants to. He doesn’t, leaning forward to catch Derek in a slow, heated kiss, bitter salt filling his mouth until he groans, stepping into Derek’s hold and letting him rub himself slowly against his hip. It’s all incredibly hot.

“Besides,” he murmurs, consciously letting one hand drop down to Derek’s sweats and rub over him lightly, “bisexuality? Totally a thing. I really wanna see you get off. The one to do it. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Derek growls and kisses him the way Stiles thought a werewolf should: fierce, and hungry, and wanting. “I’d like that.”

It takes a while, but college? Is totally awesome. Stiles makes some really good friends, especially when he finds out that Scott and Derek’s friend Erica are totally frenemy bros; he gets a crappy, two bedroom apartment so he really can stay up all night if he needs to but still has no curfew to worry about; and he finds out that dating is a hell of a lot better than hooking up.

Also that he likes dick. A lot.

He doesn’t tell his dad that part.


	2. Down To Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Doctorwolf left the comment: this is incredible. But I NEED LIKE WATER OR AIR TO BREATHE TO HEAR DEREK BEATING HIMSELF UP ABOUT FALLING FOR THIS STRAIGHT GUY. CALLING PEOPLE LIKE ERICA (IS LAURA ALIVE??) ABOUT THIS SUPER SMART, SUPER SMART, CUTE, SEXY, TOTAL BRO OF A STRAIGHT DUDE THAT HE JUST KNOWS HAS A BEAUTIFUL DICK JUST MADE FOR SUCKING AND POUNDING DEREK INTO THE MATTRESS. And the day he decided to do something about it and freaking out when he was done because wth did he just do and how omg he kissed him in the heat of the moment and doesn't know what's about to happen...
> 
> This isn't *quite* what was requested, but it's close and too long for a comment box, so here, have Derek being angsty and teased by his sister :)

Two months ago, Laura laid down the law. "You _will_ participate in your group project. I don't care that you could do it on your own better. You are going to spend time with actual living, breathing people."

"I--"

"Who are not pack!"

Fine. Derek sulks, because no one can see him and it makes him feel better, dammit, but he actually does go to the group project, cursing Laura the whole time. He knows his sister worries about him, but why she wants him to spend time with pimply mouth-breathers makes no sense. At least, that's what he thinks until he meets Stiles. The project isn't so bad after that. It's interesting, anyway, and Stiles is animated and sharp and deeply invested in making sure everything goes well. Derek... likes that, maybe. 

He maybe mentions this to Erica, too. Once. Twice at the outside.

At least, that's what he thinks until Erica starts smirking at him all the time, saying _did_ Stiles _tell you about that?_ and generally making his life miserable enough that he tells her he's quitting the project and he'll just send in his results and it'll be fine. He'll get a decent grade and then he won't have to hear about anything from her when he goes to enforced pack-outings.

He says all of this at 4:30 pm on a Tuesday. He really should've known that by 4:38 his phone would be ringing.

"Laura," he greets, sighing.

"You are not quitting the project."

"I'm only there--"

"Because I made you and now I'm making you not quit. You have to go out and meet people, Der! You can't be a hermit!"

"It's been a few months," he snaps back, because campus time is different from reality. So is time to recover (grieve, although he is never saying that where his sister can hear) and figure out who he is after-- well, after.

"He's cute, right? And you're totally into his dick."

Derek goes puce. "Laura-- what-- "

"Erica and I talk about more than just you becoming the first weretortoise," she answers, so damn smug over the phone that if he could, Derek would strangle her. Try. He'd try. A lot. "You stare at his dick a lot, you smell like a strip club whenever the two of you are together for more than a few minutes, and really, Derek, I know I taught you better on how to lock that shit down. You go to school with other werewolves. With _pack_. They're going to notice when you get that glazed, horny look on your face."

Derek's face is currently buried in both hands.

"I can hear you muttering! I am so totally right."

"You've never been on campus. You can't be right."

"No, but Erica can. She says you talk about him, like, all the time. How smart he is, how you like working with him, and how he is totally, irrevocably straight."

"Most sisters don't talk about sex with their siblings. Most sisters find this horrifying." The _way he does_.

Laura makes a noise that used to send him cowering into hiding when they lived together. Now it just makes him want to hang up the phone--only Laura will call back, repeatedly, or call his friends until _they_ make him answer the damn phone so it's really a moot point. "Baby bro, when am I like most sisters? I know your kinks better than you do, and hot, competent, straight boys with pretty cocks is like number one on the list."

Holy god there is a _list_ and _Laura knows it_.

"Derek--Der." 

She has to say it a few times before Derek unglues himself from his hands and reluctantly picks the phone back up. It isn't like they need to press their ears to the speakers. Her tone of voice has dialed down from needling, smug older sister, into the woman that is definitely going to follow in their mother's footsteps. Derek just hopes he can be a better beta than his uncle.

"What."

Laura sighs gustily. "Derek, look, is there so much harm in asking him?"

"For meaningless sex? With someone I have to do a project worth _seventy percent of my grade_ that isn't finished yet? With a kid that is most definitely straight?"

"So you have been thinking about this."

Crap. Busted.

Only Laura doesn't press her advantage. She waits, calmly, breathing slow and even and just loud enough that Derek finds himself catching the rhythm, sliding into an almost zen moment of peace that is hard to achieve on his own. Derek doesn't trust people easily. Worse, he doesn't _like_ them all that much. He knows his family worries that he spends his time alone or exclusively with campus pack members, that his two forays into exploring things with other people have lead to tragedy or near tragedy. That neither of those outcomes were his fault is irrelevant; they wouldn't have happened without his involvement and, well, Derek likes being alone anyway.

"Erica says you invited him to your apartment a few times," Laura says eventually, careful notes of family softening the implication. "That's good, Der. I'm glad."

"I shouldn't have done it."

"Maybe, maybe not. But you did. And Der--Erica likes him a lot. So does Boyd. They say he's a good kid."

No one had liked _them_. Derek hadn't really bothered to question whether they would or not, so certain in his own selfishness, but the few moments of interaction with family or pack had gone down extremely poorly. "They do?"

"Yeah. He's young and hyper, but Erica says he smells steady. Like mossy rock and redwoods."

Erica has the best nose in the pack for divining intent. 

"Did you make her tell you that?"

"Pfft," Laura responds, grin audible. "No. This is not the first time she's called _me_ , complaining of you finally finding one that doesn't make her skin crawl or her heart ache and you're too busy brooding to realize _both_ of you stink when you're around each other."

"...he's straight." He thought. No, Derek is sure. Stiles has mentioned at least two hookups and he goes to parties regularly, always coming back talking about girls he made out with or missed chances with.

"He's eighteen. He doesn't know what he is. Anyway, what's the problem? It's okay to have fun, Der. You deserve fun. I don't know why getting boys off without reciprocation is fun for you," and Laura manages to say that kindly enough that Derek only blushes, "but if it's what you like, well, I say go for it."

Only Derek doesn't think about Stiles finally letting Derek pull down those too-loose jeans to find the thick, heavy cock that he's pretty certain lays within, the familiar pressure on his knees a low, grounding ache as he opens his mouth. No, Derek thinks about that cock pushing into him, filling him, Stiles lean against his back, warm and awkward, sure, but also determined the way he gets when he finally figures out what it is he needs to do for their project. The way he suddenly snaps into focus, his hips working smoothly and that mouth whispering all the words Derek has such a hard time saying, hot puffs of breath and silken promise that would wrap around his own cock, maybe the same way Stiles might and Derek has _thought about_ those hands, sucking them, nipping against delicate skin, even as they might run over his body, his cock, stripping him sure and just this side of too much. Stiles would be so good at fucking. Maybe not at first, but Derek would help him, coax him, show him how it's done by wrecking that pert little ass, sucking on it before showing Stiles just how good it is to be filled. To make him understand that it's _everything_ , thick heat pushing inside and pressing right where that liquid fire resides, make him see that it's what he should do to Derek, he should fuck him, hard or sweet or anything, just let Derek have him for a little. Just a little.

Worst is that Derek can see past the explicit part of the fantasy, too. He can see Stiles smiling afterward, goofy and orgasm-dazed, but still intent on leaning on Derek, touching him until Derek is calm again, too. Maybe napping with him. Stiles touches people a lot-- a hand on their arm, their elbow, slumping against sides with a bonelessness that Derek envies.

He also, he realizes, has devolved into slightly elevated breathing _with his sister on the phone_. "I hate you," he growls.

"Uh hunh. It's okay to want things, Der. Okay to try and have them, too. Like I said, Erica _and_ Boyd like this kid. Go and get your sexy on."

"Please. Please never say that again."

"Only if you do it."

Like he's ever really been able to say no to his sister. He growls again, but they both know it's for show. "Fine! Fine, okay. I'll... "

Laura sigh is apple-flavored laughter. "Trying is okay, too. You're both freshman. You've got time." And oh, that is _mean_ , since Derek isn't the same baby-faced 18 everyone else seems to be in his class. Taking a year or two break to work and get his head straight after his first mess of a relationship had been essential, but the difference between 18 and 20 is a lot greater than he'd ever imagined.

"I expect you to call me back once you've hit that," Laura says.

"You're a horrible sister and you'll be a horrible alpha. I'm going to have to be an omega to get away from you."

"Love you, too, baby bro."

Twenty minutes later, Erica calls. She is not nearly as nice as Laura.

Which is why it's not even two days later that Stiles is back in Derek's apartment. This time Derek lets himself inhale deeply, lets himself watch a little more closely. He sees how sometimes Stiles shifts, his eyes fluttering, scent deepening to something musky and rich, body heat rising. The way he'll drop the occasional word, all subliminal signals that humans are terrible at noticing and werewolves--well, Derek--spend their lives relying on. Infinitesimal little nuances to obsess over.

Or the way at one point, when Derek is in the kitchen getting them refills, Stiles mutters a plaintive little, "Fuck, I need a blowjob," so absently that he probably doesn't even realize it.

Clearly the whole world is conspiring to give Derek exactly what he wants. It's totally unfair.

Or at least, it is until Stiles says _bisexual_ , eyes honeyed and wide and so earnest that Derek has no choice but to take them at total face value, falling back into his bed and trying not to be pleased when Stiles falls right along with him. Hard.


End file.
